


Admiration

by DealingDearie



Category: Thor (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:04:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1189605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DealingDearie/pseuds/DealingDearie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles written for Sif Week over on Tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Loki’s shadow was long upon the wall, the outline of his horned helmet stretching past the golden carvings, Gungnir’s silhouette reaching far beyond the ceiling as it was held loosely in his grip.

Sif felt surprise, at first, at the sight of the young prince, looking so small on the throne, looking so falsely intimidating, sitting so tall and arrogant as he looked down at them from his perch.

It was something she never thought she’d see.

But she felt anger, and a growing rage, a burst of indignation that he,  _Loki_ , could ever take what should have been Thor’s, that  _he_  could ever replace Odin, that _he_  could ever be anything but a conniving  _snake_. That truth, too, shone in his eyes, bright orbs of green in the flickering light, just as it gleamed within her own irises, clear and obvious and certain.

Her friends dropped to one knee around her, and so she followed, glaring up at Loki as the smirk twinkled in his condescending gaze, and the fist pressed above her heart only clenched tighter with fury. She watched him, silent and fuming, as he made his way down the large steps, his tone, eternally laced with amusement, now consumed by the lust for power, the drugging effect of it, the addict long-hidden within him surfacing after a mere taste of kingship.

And who was he to speak in such a way?

Who was he to deny them assistance?

Who was he to refuse his own brother?

Sif ground her teeth together, the guards around them standing alert and stiff, eyes staring off into the distance, and she felt her pulse quicken as he gazed to her.

“…for the good of Asgard,” he finished, that taunting catch in his voice so infuriatingly apparent to her, after centuries of hearing it whenever she was in Thor’s company.

She stood, wanting so immensely to punch the mirth from his eyes, but a stern, cautious hand wrapped about her wrist, and she stayed where she was, listening to Loki’s orders, listening to his attempts to keep his kingly status, listening and hating and waiting.

Gazing up at the trickster, she could have seen the ghost of who he used to be, could have seen the faded, near-forgotten image of a childish, laughing Loki trying relentlessly to gain Thor’s attention, but she only saw red blossom across her vision, only felt the urge to wrap her hands around his throat, only wanted, above all, to find Thor.

She smiled bitterly, making sure to hold his gaze so that he could read the message written in her steely expression, just as he always used to be able to, and she caught the tell-tale widening of his eyes in recognition.

 _I will defy you_.

And she turned, then, letting the echo of her booted footfalls drown out the rush of blood in her ears, letting the memory of Loki in his young years dissolve into the fresh image of him standing before the throne, letting herself give up on any hope they’d ever had of being friends dissipate as she followed the Warriors Three, determined to find her way to Midgard, no matter the cost.


	2. Chapter 2

There were many things to admire about the Lady Sif, and most men in the kingdom chose to look past all of those things and directly admire her appearance, which, as all her friends well knew, irked her immensely.

Looking past her exterior, there was her strength, which she displayed openly on the sparring court and in the midst of battle, both inside and out. There was her courage, and her unwavering loyalty, her fierce, strategic mind and her observant, watchful attention.

Thor admired all of those things within her, and told her so on many occasions, always smiling in that way of his.

Her friends admired her for her fearless determination and sometimes fearful wrath, but always managed to stay on her good side-unlike another.

Loki admired her for her wit, which he had coined ‘razor-sharp’ during several of his attempts to prank her. He always found a way to get under her skin, but she hardly ever let the irritation she felt show; it would only egg him on.

That was another trait she possessed: calm temperament, when it was needed, anyway.

It was what Frigga admired about her, finding a similar soul to converse with about all the world’s problems, finding a kindred spirit in her tumultuous life of royalty.

Sif guessed that Odin only admired within her the chance at being queen, the opportunity she had to capture Thor’s heart if she so desired, but in his old age the man was ignorant to so many other factors that would never allow her to stand beside Thor as his queen.

And for all of those things that Asgard valued her for, Sif prized in herself perhaps the most important thing-her humanity. She’d seen so many warriors, battle-scarred and cruel, steely-eyed and distant. She’d seen the faded light in their eyes, and witnessed firsthand their inability to blend in with the crowd, had traced the nightmares shining in their wide, wary, alert gazes. She’d heard the harsh tone of their voices and had seen their unforgiving grip.

She’d watched them all and had known that, somewhere, there was some kind of innocence lost to the blood on their hands, some kind of terror awakened anew each night, some kind of horror seen when they closed their eyes. It made them callous, and created a new race, and made them lose their morality.

Sif, though, had fought relentlessly, had greeted Death with a dual-bladed spear and a confident smirk, and had managed to keep that crucial part of herself throughout so many years of its threatened safety.

That was what she admired about herself and, if she was being honest, what she loved, as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)


	3. Chapter 3

In all of her years, Sif had only ever truly had one friend. There were the Warriors Three with their enthusiastic and kind ways, with their energetic eagerness and odd way of making her day just that much better. There was Loki, with his uneasy gaze and shadowy presence, but with an unwavering, reliable kind of consistency-a certain predictability.

But despite the comfort they provided the warrior maiden with, despite all of the centuries she’d been in their company, only one was the friend she was sure she couldn’t live without. Only one was the person she would sacrifice everything for, the leader she would follow into battle, the man she would die for. The one and only person that had both her complete trust and undying loyalty, and she had his, in return.

 _Thor_.

He was her constant in a sea of turmoil, a steady rock cast into an ever-changing storm, a warm comfort found in the coldest and darkest of places. She was proud to know him, ecstatic to call him her friend, perfectly content to sit and listen to all of his problems as he vented about the day to her, all too happy to watch the tension in his eyes vanish the longer he talked with her.

Thor was her best friend, her most valued friend, and she couldn’t imagine what she’d do without him. Her life would have been so bland, had she not met a young crown prince sparring loosely in the court, swinging a wooden sword against a tree with relentless determination. Sif just couldn’t wrap her head around the possibility that she could have grown up knowing him from afar, catching his name in murmured gossip rather than shouting it from across the courtyard, seeing his face in distant passing rather than witnessing its smile inches from her own.

If she hadn’t commented on his swinging technique, if she hadn’t butted in with her golden, bouncy curls and dainty, children’s summer dress, their lives would have been so different.

Sif was glad that she’d been nosy, glad that she’d talked to him, glad that she’d instantly found a kindred spirit in those bright blue eyes of his so many years ago. It had bettered her life in untold ways, and she loved every second of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Cold arms snaked around her middle, just as equally chilled feet rubbed against her calf, and Sif shivered inwardly as she turned to glare half-heartedly at a sleepy, groggy-eyed Loki, who raised his head at the attention to send her a teasing, idle smirk.

Her shoulders bared by how far Loki had tugged down the covers atop them both, Sif felt the suddenly urgent need to pull the blankets up closer to her chin, basking in the immediate flood of heat that assaulted her cool skin when she did.

But the trickster’s limbs, tangled about her own after a night of Loki’s ceaseless tossing and turning, seeking to hold onto something in the throes of dreams that she suspected leaned more heavily toward being nightmares, still made her cold. Sliding her hands beneath the sheets, she pressed steady, comforting palms against his chest, smiling as he rested the side of his face against her pillow, the skin of his cheek already wrinkled and patterned with lines from the night’s position.

His green eyes were dark slivers of emerald beneath heavy lids, and she watched as he quickly fell back to sleep, his hands splayed at the small of her back, fingers curled so that their pads could grace the curve of her spine, the contact unnerving her for an entirely different reason.

Beneath her touch, Sif could feel the fluttering beat of his heart, the reliable, constant thing she’d come to cherish more than almost anything, the one sign that Loki would never leave her, the one sign that he could always be found, the one sign that he still held an actual heart in his chest when at times it seemed like he was empty of it.

With her dark hair spread outward from her head, covering the pillows, her neck felt cold, and she burrowed deeper into the mattress in a futile attempt to warm it, ebony strands mingling with Loki’s own so that it was hard to tell where one ended and where another began.

Slowly, carefully, she snuck her arm out from under the covers, ignoring the discomfort of the frigid air against her pale skin, to reach out and tuck a wild strand of hair behind his ear from where it was dangling before his eyes.

She allowed herself a moment to let her fingers drag ever-lightly along his jawbone before returning her arm to its warm, submerged home, and couldn’t keep the smile from her face as his grip around her body tightened just a fraction.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)


	5. Chapter 5

Sif stood, ebony strands whipping in the harsh wind all around her, the metal of her armor scuffed and blood-stained, her eyes lit with victory and her smile wide, above the last slain warrior, roughly pulling her spear from his chest, and the army behind her roared triumphantly, celebrating as some whistled and as others clanged their weapons excitedly against the cold, packed earth.

She turned to laugh, relieved, and raised the spear above her head for all to see the line of crimson dripping down the blade, eventually crawling in a slow line to slide over the place on her skin that armor failed to protect, just by her elbow. Her warriors' shouts were loud and rambunctious, spurring further the electric euphoria in the air.

She gave them her fiercest victory cry, and their cheers only intensified as they moved to circle around her as her heart, fluttering rhythmically in her chest like a caged butterfly, pounded ecstatically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that concludes Sif Week (but I was late to post this here, since I'm lazy). Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)
> 
> All rights go to their respective owners.


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